


A World Where All Would Be Silent And Still

by Elise_Davidson



Series: 40 Snapshots [2]
Category: Stargate Universe
Genre: 32. Touch, 40 Snapshots, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-03
Updated: 2016-08-03
Packaged: 2018-07-29 01:19:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7664746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elise_Davidson/pseuds/Elise_Davidson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There were only so many points of contact.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A World Where All Would Be Silent And Still

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks again to LegacySoulReaver for the beta. Dedicated to Fragged and wereismygarden because yeah, this wouldn't have been possible without either of you.
> 
> Edited 8/8/16 to clear up some sentences and fix some typos.
> 
> Also forgot to give credit--the title and some of the dialogue is heavily inspired by Samuel Beckett's play, "Endgame".

32\. Touch

The world Destiny had picked was unnaturally quiet. It may have been the ice and snow muting the sound of any wind or precipitation that existed, or it could have been the unnaturally lilac-shade of sunlight that threw everything visible into what looked as if someone had made a daytime filter of a black light. It was, also, quite possibly one of the coldest yet “viable” worlds they had visited yet; the snow drifting lightly and teasingly over the already ice-laden landscape.

Scans had indicated ruins of some type, and Destiny’s FTL clock had allowed for plenty of time for an as-yet-unknown reason—enough time that it added up to nearly two weeks—and Young figured that there must be something of critical importance on the planet.

Rush, as always, disagreed, but grudgingly agreed to come along in a scientific capacity in lieu of Park, whose vision was still limited. The reluctance to go wasn’t as strong as normal, and Young figured they were both due to get off the damn ship at this point. After all, it wasn’t as if there weren’t other scientists who could go to the planet and do exactly what Rush could (and would) do.

So Young and Rush worked on who would go down. It would have been surprising before stasis maybe that the debate went as it did—as it was, the conversation itself was efficient and to the matter, edged by sharp jabs of sarcasm and passive-aggressive remarks lined in not-quite-hidden scorn.

Young outlined their needs, what it would take from current stores, and the fact that Rush had said implicitly that the planet had nothing to offer in way of food, but plenty of water. In the end, Young and Rush went down with Greer (always good for back up), Scott (who had only agreed when Chloe had waved him off in a flurry of calculations she was double-checking with Eli), Brody (who had become the unspoken “MacGuyver” of Destiny), TJ (just in case there was some kind of medicinal flora within the tundra of vegetation that the scans had shown), James (she could not only pull her own but pull down if needed), and a handful of marines and air force personnel to help haul whatever they needed from the planet.

It was the third day when, after a short day in the odd violet light of the planet (which had now turned darker and had a hint of blue) that Young found Rush surveying the few ruins that were within their designated radius of exploration.

Young crossed his arms, fingers ticking over his ribs. “Something important?”

Rush shrugged, hands splayed over narrow hips encased in dirty jeans. “Seems odd that the only ruins are here.”

Young held back on the impatience he held for Rush’s cryptic statement and toed the snow beneath his boot. “It’s getting colder.”

Rush broke his gaze abruptly and, as if Young and the broken structures both held the same importance, turned in order to head back to the camp. Everyone had paired off in unspoken terms early on. Since Young and Rush were, respectively, heads of military and science, they were reluctant to share a tent with anyone other than each other. It was cursory and functional, and nothing seemed unusual about the arrangement. They had made the same agreement dozens of times once out of stasis at this point.

Hell, it was almost funny in that their unhappiness at sharing such a personal space as sleeping was humorous. But then, unhappiness was always funny at some point once it became routine.

Rush shrugged under his sleeping bag, fully clothed beneath the material and his hair covering his face. He didn’t seem terribly inclined to conversation, with a preference toward burying his head into his thin pillow.

Young curled under his own covers, exhaustion overtaking the fact that for once, he noticed that Rush looked like a planet agreed with the bastard. He shivered beneath his sleeping bag and turned away.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It was the middle of whatever this planet’s night was when Young woke suddenly, feeling a thrashing body beside of him. Sleepy and off-guard, Young drowsily hauled his line of vision to the disruption before realizing that Rush was near-flailing in his sleep, half-caught whimpers catching in the overwhelming silence of the planet.

“Rush,” Young groused in a sleep-roughened voice, “You’re dreaming.”

Rush was still half-sleeping when his dark eyes landed on Young, and there was a moment where Young would have sworn on his first marksman’s badge that Rush was coherent.

“I didn’t know,” Rush choked out with wide eyes and stringy hair falling over his face.

Young shifted so he was facing Rush. “What?” He wondered if Rush were still dreaming, but then Rush’s hand caught his fingers in a surety that made Young’s heart jump to his throat. “What didn’t you know?”

Rush’s eyes glittered purple and black in the weird dark of the planet, pale skin silver and graying hair brilliant in the moonlight. “Don’t you get it?”

Young swallowed hard—it must’ve been too long since he’d had another person touch him, because Rush’s fingers seemed to engulf the bones in his wrist, narrow fingers  
ticking over sensitive skin that shouldn’t have been sparking with the contact.

“Get what?”

Rush cocked his head quietly, fingers still absently drawing numbers and letters and god knew what else over the skin on Young’s wrist. “I didn’t know…I didn’t quite get that it’d be you.”

Young’s heart stopped somewhere in the vicinity of his throat and stomach. Either way, organs were not where they were supposed to be. “And that means what?”

Rush was definitely sluggish at this point; he burrowed his head of light brown hair into the pillow, fingers still tangled easily within Young’s. “It’s you.”

Young stared as Rush’s fingers clenched around his own. The only other points of contact were their knees were jumbled and their ankles were tangled. “Me what?”

Rush didn’t respond, seemingly back to sleep as if nothing had even happened.

Young stared as he let himself feel the callused skin rub against his own hand. He finally tipped his head to the pillow, unable (or unwilling) to lose the physical contact. He shifted downward until Rush was lying on his shoulder, an arm wrapped around the narrow scientist and his other hand jumbled about Rush’s hip.

Young let out a rush of breath that fluttered the too-long hair. Certain that Rush was asleep, he decided to speak. “I’m only trying to understand your words…if I have them wrong…well…” He said nothing more, not right away.

In the stillness of what would become known as the “quiet planet”, as named by Eli via a kino, Young laid out everything as Rush slept.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Back on the ship, Rush jerked his shoulders in an impatient shrug as he and Young viewed the map of what they did know about their location. “It’s a bit organized anyway—better than what we had.”

Young was no idiot; Rush knew that—he could see the hazel eyes tracking over their current galaxy in the universe.

With little warning, Young’s hand rested beside of his, their pinkies situated in a way that was more acceptance than affection. “Still going for the beginning, yeah?” Young asked.

The question threw Rush off—he hadn’t known that Young had any idea just how important Destiny’s mission was. As such, he fidgeted and flustered a hand over his console. “The end is in the beginning.”

Young smirked, though Rush couldn’t see it—he felt Young’s body heat behind him, felt the touch of skin along his fingers, the feel of someone closing in from behind against his back, someone encircling him.

Rush stiffened, unable to deal with the contact in a way he could quantify. “And yet, you go on when the beginning could be the end.”

Young snorted behind him and retreated. “The beginning isn’t always the end, Rush,” he said in an almost tired voice. “Aren’t you tired of trying to connect the two?”

Rush snapped his head up, glaring at Young. “Why shouldn’t they be?”

Young sidled his hip alongside Rush’s console, arms crossed and staring hard at the floor. It was a long moment, but Rush was patient—he waited until Young tilted an intense stare in his direction. “Isn’t the end a definitive fixed point? Destiny’s point was never fixed—why should anything else be?”

Rush slanted his stare at him. “Are we still talking about Destiny’s mission?”

Young pulled no punches. “No; we’re not.” He inched imperceptibly closer to Rush's side. "And since we're on the topic, there was something else I wanted to ask."

Rush snorted. “Ask away.”

“A few nights ago, you said you didn't know it’d be me. Me what?”

Rush felt his throat close and stared at Young. “What?”

Young fisted his hands where his arms were crossed. “You just said you didn't know it’d be me. I wanted to know what you meant by that.”

Rush splayed broad palms against his console, clever fingers finding things to do in lieu of answering Young’s question.

Young sighed—it sounded wistful—and pushed himself away from Rush’s work station. “Come find me when you figure out why it was me then.”

Rush waited until Young was gone before half-collapsing against his console, exhausted of the words he had and was unwilling to give what remained.

Gloria said something above him.

Nicholas gave up as numbers and particles and everything in between ensconced him.

It wasn’t quite enough to mimic how Young’s fingers had felt tangled in his own, how Young’s knees bumped against his, how their ankles entwined.

Rush grunted and forged ahead, ignorant of anything other than the numbers that now surrounded his mind; numbers intermixed with letters he knew were somehow and inexplicably tied to Young.

Young watched…he wished he didn’t have to adjust to Rush’s moods. He held back, only because he knew that Nick had taught him the words to use. If the words weren’t available…well, than Young knew.

Young knew better than to try.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


End file.
